Into Eternity
by RequiemDreaming
Summary: [AU] A mission gone wrong sees Tracer walking a path no one can follow.
1. Prologue

It felt like hours. The moment the bullets ripped through his armor before her eyes. His smile turned grim with the pain, but his eyes never wavered.

"Winston!" Tracer scrambled to her feet as the hail of bullets continued. Every second stretched, and every sound amplified. Just over the roaring of the metal was the raggedness of her own breathing. Her limbs quaked with exertion. "Winston, stop! Please!" She fell over as her muscles protested.

And all her best friend did was smile, back hunched over her shorter form. "Lena," his voice rang out. Blood seeped through his lips. And it was wrong, so wrong. "Do me a favor."

The rotors of the back up units roared to life beyond the periphery of her vision. Four helicopters converged over the skyscrapers providing a blanket of cover fire. The hail of bullets ripping through her best friend's back started to lessen as the cover fire continued.

But it was far too late. Tracer felt like crying, screaming, murdering every son of a bitch who shot at Winston with bare hands.

"Lead Overwatch. Protect them." Winston's voice was a whisper of what it had been. Quiet, agonizingly so.

"B-but Winston. I can't-" Lena scrambled for the right words to say. "I'm- you're-" She choked as a well of sadness erupted. "No. You're not dying. That's not happening." Finally able to push her screaming muscles to accept the weight of her body, Tracer moved fully towards Winston as his own limbs collapsed.

"This isn't happening. It's a dream." Tracer mumbled as her mind pushed denial into the foreground. "We're a team. The two of us. You can't just go and die on me." Her voice began picking up volume as the desperation mounted.

Pooling blood seeped from beneath Winston's gear. His eyes stared unseeing at the afternoon sun.

"No. No no no no no." Tracer pushed at Winston's body in vain. "Get up big guy. Come on. Get up. Please."

"Lena!" Someone shouted from behind her. Six pairs of footsteps clacked on the pavement to separate rhythms. "Lena! Winston! Are you guys okay?"

Tracer's breath caught. Angela's medical crew was finally on scene. But they were far too late.

"Lena! Is Winston alright?" Angela's rigid form fell to her knees as she went fully into medical mode.

"It's my fault." Tracer mumbled. "It's all my fault." She scrambled away from the body of her best friend. "Oh god. It's all my fault."

Angela barked commands to the medical team that Tracer couldn't hear. Her ears rang with her own admissions.

Tracer's desperation pushed her to move. Her body hated every motion, fire lit itself along her shins, thighs, and abdomen. Blood, Winston's blood, stained her hands and left a trail of footprints as she raced away. She didn't even hear Angela yelling her name over the rushing in her own ears.

"My fault." She whispered as the chronal accelerator on her chest whirred from the pace she set. "My fault. It's my fault." Her speed increased as her feet padded along the carnage of the city streets. Brickwork and gravel lay strewn across in patches. Bullet holes in the cement caught her eye for the brief second she was near them.

"It's my fault!" she finally screamed as the fire in her muscles and the desperation in her mind lit the rage in her soul.

She gripped the chronal accelerator's straps in her hands. The machine tethering her to the time stream wobbled and whirred on her chest. A reminder of her best friend.

In a fit of rage, Tracer tore at the straps. Tore at it as if it burned. The bindings strained under the pressure giving only slightly to the Brit's strength. Until she was fed up.

Tracer pulled the piece over her head, forcing the contraption to cede to her anger. The electric blue pulse from the machine blazed brightly in her hands.

She stopped suddenly. Parts of her form already starting to slip and become opaque without the tether to time on her person. And then Tracer slammed the chronal accelerator onto the pavement in front of her.

The glass panel on the front cracked with the first slam and broke into pieces on the second.

Tracer let go of the equipment, the accelerator landing face up between her legs and stained with the blood from her hands.

The blood. Winston's blood. Because she killed him.

With a final wordless scream Tracer punched the front of the chronal accelerator, her right hand passing through the broken glass and colliding with the electric blue circular lights of the parts inside.

Pain beyond any she had ever experienced raced up her right arm burning lightning streaks from finger tips to shoulder. The burning continued, pushing on towards her chest, abdomen, legs, and left arm, up her neck and into her head.

Tracer screamed as the world around her shattered, dissolving into the darkness she remembered from long ago. When she had foolishly tested out the Slipstream.

But all that mattered was the continuous burning. The lightning infecting her blood. Because it still hadn't stopped. And in the void that was nowhere and everywhere, Tracer screamed.

And eternity passed.

* * *

I'm posting this prologue to see if there is interest in the continuation of this story. Thank you for reading.

-Requiem


	2. Chapter 1

Time stretched and ebbed like an inconsistent tide. Eventually Tracer's mind pushed the torturous burning sensation into the depths of her thoughts. It lingered, a steady pain in time with the beat of her heart, but it no longer completely stunned her into submission. It was a part of her, in a sense. It meant she was alive in this nowhere that was everywhere.

And within the nowhere a blurry light began to manifest. Tracer was unsure if it was her own imagination, her idea of a sunrise from the depths of her own mind. But it swept towards her, gaining speed as the rush of blood sounded in her ears.

The light tipped her out, pouring her essence from the dark like so much unwanted existence.

For a single long moment, Tracer could hear only the pounding of her own head keeping beat with her heart. Until her ears adjusted to the world around her once again. She landed with a thud onto the cold paved ground. A nearby streetlight cast a small fluorescent glow in her direction.

Fire raced through her veins, the burning a low note in the orchestral groaning her joints and muscles collectively sounded. Overarching all in a bitter clash was the sharp note of the right side of her face.

Reflexively, Tracer opened her eyes to assess the damage.

Tattered remains of her uniform hung from starkly pale skin. There were bits of stone dust and mud painted across her left side mixed with the darker undertones of scarlet blood stains. She turned to assess her right side and made a horrible realization.

The blurring that slowly changed to optimal focus only occurred for one of her eyes. Despite the screaming pain from the right side of her face, Tracer had made no move to check until that realization.

Tracer went to use her right arm, trying to extend her hand to do a cursory check of her cheek, but her arm screamed as if the nerves themselves were frying on the inside.

Searing pain raced up her forearm and into her right shoulder. Her face contorted, lips parting in agony to release a strangled gurgling. Muscles locked and quivered, the pain like a wildfire racing through her veins. Crimson flashed before her, punctuated with a blinding light.

The pain suddenly ebbed, her blurring vision catching one last glance at the night sky before falling into darkness.

* * *

Anders shifted on the bench beneath him trying to alleviate the numbness spreading to his legs. The van bumped along through the night without a care for the six men stuffed in the back like packing peanuts.

"Why do we even need this many people?" The guy to his left grunted. "It said one subject on the side of a road, right? Not a squad of omnics at our door."

"You know how the higher ups are. Always better to have more asses with more guns out on the field." Anders stared across from him at the man as he talked.

He stayed silent when the guy's eyes flickered his way. _What do I know, I'm just a scrawny twenty-something with maybe a half-dozen recon missions under my belt. I should be back in the medical lab right now._

"Ya ever hear of somethin' fallin' from the sky?" Their tallest member spoke with a southern drawl as he hunched his form into the back corner.

"Nah, that has to be someone making a joke." The guy to his left spoke again as he shifted his legs and leaned forward.

"Ain't no joke. I saw the video recording." The southerner grinned.

_I don't even know most of these guys. _He glanced around under his helmet at the five other men bouncing along on the benches. _But I'm not surprised. Hell, I barely had the clearance for this as is. Someone appearing from the sky? What the fuck kind of world do we live in these days?_

He shifted again as the nerve endings in his legs started awakening, accompanied with prickling tingles. His right foot resisted the urge to tap his nervousness into the floor.

_Inspect target, prep for transport. _He thought, fingers crossing in his lap to keep them from fiddling. It was the oversimplified version of the form he'd received for this mission. But Anders could barely wrap his head around the prospect of someone or something falling from the sky.

"Could be those omnic bastards." Anders glanced at the guy on his right as he spoke up for the first time. "Making some kind of bait for us."

That idea sent a chill up his spine. Too many casualties had occurred already because of the war. Some people he gave a damn about were now sleeping eternally six feet under. _Hell, I'm replacing someone who's six feet under. _

The van lurched to a stop, forcing the men to brace themselves as best as they could. Anders pulled from his thoughts as the driver's shoes crunched down outside. Military standard boots swiftly shuffled around to the back of the van and paused. The double doors swung open soundlessly, letting in the chill of the air and the silence of the night beyond. More than one officer looked wound tighter than a bow string. The end of their conversation had placed them all on edge.

Their commanding officer's face appeared as flashlights switched on. Davidson's stony expression and flinty eyes raked over the few men he was given. Anders held steady under the gaze, one wrong move would have attracted Davidson's wrath down upon him.

Davidson motioned for the men to exit, moving out of the way as he waited. Anders followed the man to his left as they all went out into the dark, bracing for the feeling of his tingling legs against solid ground.

Anders fell in line. The only sounds in the night were his own breathing, the pumping of his heart in his chest, and the crunch of all their boots on the ground. The adrenaline rush surged through him, sharpening his mind to the mission.

Davidson pointed two men to flank left and two to go right, keeping Anders and one other man to follow him towards a spot five meters up the road. The headlights from the van illuminated a small mound set in the edge of the sidewalk close to a street light. The camera the military had caught the phenomenon from sat high up in the ridge of the building across the street.

Anders was hyperaware that they were being watched by a group of higher ups right now. He calmed his breathing and focused on his surroundings, looking for the signs of an omnic ambush.

Davidson signaled his group to close in on the lump in the road. As he got closer, Anders caught a glimpse of ragged cloth and the harsh splatters on the pavement that could only be blood. Another step and he could make out a small hand protruding from the pile. Matted dark hair covered the _human_ head of a child.

Mud a dirt covered just how badly the right side of her face was mangled. But Anders could still make out the inconsistencies between the left and right.

"Anders, proceed!" Davidson's voice broke through and Anders hesitated. Of all the horrors he had imagined meeting here on this mission in the dark it was never a child.

_Fuck, this could just as well be my little sister lying there._ His hesitation grew until the pregnant pause had the men around him shifting uncomfortably.

"Anders, I said proceed." His impatience leaked through the command forcing Anders into moving.

From his pouch Anders brought out his handheld scanning device. A small medical system developed by the tech guys back at the base. It helped read initial stats and diagnostics as well as showed just where medical attention may be needed.

Most importantly, it differentiated human from omnic.

The device clicked a short clear tone denoting human origin. Tension in the air lessened as the diagnostics continued.

"Human female. Around eight years of age. Caucasian or European descent. Critical condition. Medical attention needed for the right eye, right shoulder, and right arm." He glanced at the readings one more time to be sure. "Sir, her heat signature keeps fluctuating like it's fading in and out. But she's not in danger of flat lining, Sir." _I've never seen readings this bizarre before._

Davidson gave a once-over of the readings himself. His stony expression stayed in place and Anders was hard pressed to decide if his commanding officer was even surprised by the outputs.

"Pack up and let's get the hell out of here."

Anders took another moment to glance at the child's form. The body quavered in the cold, the torso smudged with dirt and blood. Only the steady rise and fall ensured the kid was even alive.

And then, before his eyes could sweep away, her left arm began to dematerialize from the wrist down. Anders responded with open-mouthed shock and a small release of breath. He checked the device in his hand to be sure. And there it was, her heat signature winked out just below her arm.

One of the taller men had bent down to help patch the kid for transport. He had paused in his activities to make sure what he had just seen was accurate.

_I'm not getting paid enough for these types of missions._ Anders decided finally, moving to trigger the medial chamber from the van. It levitated out into the night with a small droning sound.

Once it reached Anders the chamber levitated over the top of the girl, opening at the bottom like claws. Gently, it pulled her up inside and stabilized her further with more precise readings than his hand held device could accomplish.

Anders read the loadout on the side of the medical chamber making sure she was ready for transport. The screen showed a consistent reading on everything except the heat signature. He could see from the small window at the top that her face and body were being cleared of muck and her injuries were being tended. With a few more clicks on the control panel he sent the medical tube back towards the van.

He followed closely to make sure the tube set firmly in its hold at the top of the van's ceiling. Davidson watched him from the open back door until.

"Subject is secure, Sir," Anders finally concluded when the last strap fell in place.

"Alright. Let's head out." Davidson marched to the front of the van as the rest of the team loaded in. Anders ended up squashed in the back corner this time trying to comprehend what he'd just witnessed.

_I really wish I was back in the medical labs right now._

* * *

**_Thank you for the reviews. I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter._**

**_-Requiem_**


	3. Chapter 2

Aged fingers pressed the double doors open to the room beyond. Clutched in one tight fist was the single page file describing the case now resting firmly in his medical wing. That it was written by one of his former techs was neither here nor there. _Anders could have at least included more information._ He sighed. _One page, are you fucking kidding me?_

Of course, what was held in that single page peaked his interest high enough to leave the sturdiness of his desk behind. Usually he let the managerial staff handle even the unique cases. Everyone had enough clearance by this point to patch up someone coming through the doors. As long as no questions were asked in the process of the patching up.

The crisp scent of sanitization and efficiency hit his face as he strode inside. Movement ceased as the medical staff recognized just who had entered through the main doors.

"Doctor Vance, Sir," A haggard and overworked young man by the name of Ben Perry saluted neatly to his left.

Vance returned the gesture quickly and proceeded right down to business. "Perry, where's the new patient?"

Ben scratched nervously at the bridge of his nose and pushed his glasses up slowly. "Just down here, Sir. Squad 46 brought her in in a medical pod about fifteen minutes ago." Ben led Vance down the rows of medical equipment to the back of the wing as they talked. The various staff saluted the Doctor as he walked by. "Diagnostics were run multiple times from the pod to the holo-screens. Her heart is steady, and there are no broken bones. Any internal bleeding was taken care of by the pod before she arrived."

Ben stopped at a compact structure used more for triage and extraction than the standard use beds of the medical bay. The stiff black markings on the side of the pod denoted just which vehicle the device had come from. A clip board attached to the side had general notations and interesting observations from the quarter hour the pod had resided in the back of the medical bay.

Vance glanced over the sparse notes; unfortunately they held nothing he hadn't already been made aware of. A few sections described the fluctuations in her heat signature combined with the complete disappearance of whatever part of her body was no longer showing up on the scans.

There was no pattern to the occurrences. Just the knowledge that they did occur and that whatever was forcing her to do so was sending a small pulsing signature from behind her right eye. A place by all accounts, prodding, and diagnostics, should not be capable of the activity currently taking place. It was such a minute pulse of energy that the pod had almost not picked up on it. In the near hour it had had to run tests and triage its occupant, the medical pod had been able to come up with a counter to the phenomenon. By sending a nullifying pulse of energy inverted from the wave form of the original it stopped any further disappearances of the girl. It was not an instant nullification, but rather a way of sequestering the issue to a small portion of the girl's body. And then it was a waiting game for whatever part disappeared to reappear once again. So far the pulses had happened seven separate times.

"Thank you, Perry. Please tell Ria I would like her to come explain her notes in person," Vance dismissed the younger male with a small wave of his hand, clearly distracted by the medical marvel in front of him. He couldn't help but be drawn to the small observation window near the front end of the pod. Clear glass separated him from an obviously young, clean female face. The right side of it was still undergoing the mending process, as was the right arm and torso. A web of lightning-like scars cut thin paths from her right hand up her arm and into her body. A large portion of which coalesced around her right eye almost akin to tiny veins.

The sharp clack of heels on the floor signaled the arrival of the young woman known as Ria Santos. Doctor Vance turned to take in the delighted and curious pair of stunning caramel eyes set in tanned skin and folded into the no-nonsense package that was Nurse Ria. She held his gaze as she rested the small clipboard she had against the side of her body.

"Dr. Vance," Her smile was infectious and Vance found himself returning it easily. She'd stopped close enough to peak at both the observation window and the diagnostics running along the side of the pod. The heart monitor beeped along in the silence between them. And then the pregnant pause stalled with the sound of a small alarm on the side of the pod.

Vance stepped over to the front of the diagnostics panels with Ria moving to his left side. The pod fed the information it was receiving to the holo-screens on the back wall across from them. The area surrounding the girls' left shoulder and upper arm were quickly isolated on the overhead scan. The heat signature disappeared from that region, leaving an eerily unattached lower left arm and hand.

"Fascinating," Doctor Vance made the screens zoom in on the location for a closer look.

"Glad you think so, Doctor." Ria marked down some more information on the occurrence in the notes section on the patient's clip board. "Because I hear it's going to be your job to figure this out."

Vance's eye gleamed at the prospect. "I'm looking forward to it." He turned to fully face Ria. "Please explain everything you have observed since the moment she arrived in the medical bay. The notes I have do not cover a lot."

Ria smiled thinly before beginning. "Operations team 34 entered nearly twenty minutes ago followed by the medical pod from on board their extraction vehicle. It was explained to me by Corporal Anders that while the girl inside is not an omnic, she exhibited frequent bouts of medical anomaly. That which you see now on the holo screens. Since arriving here, she has had four of these, including the one occurring right now. As you can see the medical pod has found a way to isolate the infected area using electrical signaling. However, as it seems to be coming from behind her right eye, I have been informed that a more permanent solution must be found before she can be released for observation and training."

"Training?" Doctor Vance glanced over the single page of notes he'd received from Anders earlier. "I haven't seen any reports about training this girl. The military can't seriously be suggesting she fight omnics?"

Ria's smile disappeared as quickly as it had formed. "It's not for me to decide. Like it or not, the military has given preliminary orders on this case. Prep her so she can be transported, Dr. Vance."

"Ria's right, Dr." The steel-edged tone of Sergeant Williams made Vance jump. The sergeant had somehow gotten behind the pair as they discussed the girl in the medical pod. "Your official orders."

Vance turned to assess the stony face of one Daniel Williams. He was a mountain of a man with broad shoulders and salt and pepper hair. In one hand he held a small folder with several loose papers. "Sir?" Vance reached out to take the folder and quickly glanced over the first document inside.

"As of right now, this project is being moved to Medical Bay 13." The sergeant motioned to two of the nearby medical technicians. "I want this pod prepped for immediate transport."

"Soldier 80?" Dr. Vance's eyes widened at the paper in front of him. "You can't seriously be considering having a young girl join the program?"

"Dr. Vance, our priority is those omnic scum. The comfort of a child, as unfortunate as it is, comes second to that." Sergeant Williams' face remained cold and impassive. "If you want off this project, say so now. We need this done and done quickly."

Dr. Vance glanced over at nurse Ria. Her eyes remained down on the floor and her shoulders were slightly slumped in defeat.

With a small sigh Dr. Vance slapped the folder firmly closed, shaking Sergeant Williams' hand. "Whatever may happen, I'm in."

_Though I feel I may go to hell for this._ Vance gave one more glance through the window at the child inside. _Welcome to the Soldier Enhancement Program._

* * *

_**I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Thank you for reading!**_

_**-Requiem**_


	4. Chapter 3

_**I apologize for the delay in posting. Please enjoy Chapter 3.**_

* * *

Awareness came in fuzzy smatterings of time, stuttered clips like an old film camera with a low frame rate. In one blink she was on the pavement under the iridescence of the street lamp. In another a soft beeping measured the timing of her heart and the sterile white insides of an old medical pod greeted her.

Crisp, cold gas erupted from vents near her head, coating her face quickly and efficiently. Her vision wavered again as she caught one last glimpse of the white pod. And then her reality fractured, and the darkness claimed her once more.

It was the third stuttering awakening that brought her back into reality more permanently. Fuzzy cotton balls had infested her brain, tingles wracked her legs. However, with a few measured breaths and even more minutes spent assessing herself with her limited capacity of thought, Tracer opened her eyes.

_What happened?_ Her left eye focused in on the high ceiling nearly instantly. Her right eye remained in darkness.

The steady beep of the monitor on her right picked up speed as panicked thoughts spilled over in her mind. A strangled yelp emitted from chapped lips as she attempted to use one and then both of her hands to check the right side of her face. Padded cuffs restrained her left arm to the bed, pulling on her wrist as she moved. Her right arm, to her growing horror, was fully locked in placed from the shoulder down.

_What the hell is going on!? _

The white curtains to her left moved slightly allowing the lithe figure of a woman inside with her. Bright brown eyes assessed the situation in a single glance, fingers flying over a hand-held electronic device. The humming in the room reduced as multiple machines began to go into hibernation mode.

Once the sounds lowered to just the erratic beeps of the heart monitor, Tracer rasped out a couple of questions. "What's going on? Where's Angela?"

Tracer tugged uselessly at the cuff on her left wrist. _What the hell is going on. Where am I? What happened? And why the hell am I cuffed to the bed?_

She didn't voice all of her questions. Once Angela came by she would know more. _Like how the hell I got this badly injured._

"Angela…" the woman next to her murmured the name to herself as she noted it down on the handheld electronic pad in her hands.

"Yes! Angela! I need to see her, to speak with her."

The woman finished whatever notes she was gathering and finally looked at Tracer. "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow that at this time." She clicked a few more buttons on the electronic pad and hummed.

"Why not? She's okay, right?" Tracer's mind started spilling over in panic again. _It's okay. I can get out of this thing soon and go find her myself._

"Calm down honey, I know it may be hard, but I need you to focus," she pinned Tracer in place with her eyes. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Tracer scowled at her tone. _It's like they're treating me like a god damned child!_ "Why can't you tell me anything about Angela?"

The nurse sighed as she gave Tracer another once over. "Listen, I know you are probably confused. But we need to know what happened. Was it an omnic attack?"

Tracer squeezed her left eye closed in thought as the fuzzy images began parading themselves past her mind's eye. The mission with Winston, followed by her failure. Winston's eyes as he gave his final request. The dead, glazed expression.

Then the anger. The rage pushed her heartbeat up on the monitors, burning her insides with its flooding fire. And then the massive nothing, the darkness eating at her sanity for both forever and a single instance. The single white horizon rushed up from beyond eternity and swallowed her out into existence once more.

There was a memory of sidewalk, luminescence, and the sharp tinge of pain; a panicked wondering and then silence.

"Calm down, honey," the nurse soothed Tracer as she held on to the girl's left hand. "They cannot hurt you anymore." She'd misread the anger and the beeping of the alarms as fear.

Something snapped into place as the nurse's voice jolted Tracer out of her hazy memories. She struggled in the bed as she tried to pull her left arm from the cuff and her right arm from the solid hold from the shoulder down. "What time is it?"

"Calm down, this is not good for the –" The nurse stood and glanced over to Tracer's right arm. "Please stop, you're safe here."

"What time, miss. What time is it? What day?" _The last time I was in the void it was a couple months?_

The flustered nurse checked a small watch she had had attached to the inside of her wrist. "It's July 7th, 4:37 in the evening." She held down Tracer's left shoulder trying to prevent any issues with the strap around her wrist. Her other hand went to the call button at the side of the bed. She would need the doctor on call to check the right arm. The pulling may have caused issues with what Dr. Vance had accomplished in the early hours of the morning.

Tracer relaxed a fraction to contemplate what she had been told. _Four months? I spent four months in there?_ Dread curled up in the pit of her stomach. _So much can have happened in that amount of time. I… I hope everyone is alright._

"Nurse Herrin," a nope froze both occupants. "Nurse Herrin is everything alright?"

"Dr. Vance, I thought you were still resting."

The elderly face of the doctor smiled as he walked in casually shutting the door behind himself. "I was notified when she woke up by Dr. Everette. He knew I'd want to be here."

Vance moved around the bed to Tracer's right side. With her right eye covered and the limited range of motion available, she was wholly unable to see what all he was doing. Especially not with the nurse securing her left shoulder to stop any further struggling.

"What's going on? What happened?" She turned her head as far as she could to look at the doctor. All she managed was a slight crick in her neck and very little information. A tightening sensation burst up to her right shoulder as if the muscles themselves were being wound up. Some sort of silver equipment consumed her arm just past her shoulder blade, and Dr. Vance was poking around at the other side of the device as if all was perfectly normal. As if her arm wasn't currently being held hostage and Nurse Herrin wasn't holding her down before she attempted anything stupid.

_Wait, something, there's something wrong._ It was like an itch in the back of her head. A memory she couldn't quite grasp. Something very very incorrect about her surroundings. _Besides the fact I seem to be with the American military for some reason._

The beep of the handheld device on Nurse Herrin's waist drew Tracer's attention away from Dr. Vance. And that's when it hit. The handheld device, the spotty memories of the medical pod, it all pointed to something she remembered Angela saying to her a few years back. Something about obsolete tech and malfunctioning equipment.

Tracer gave the nurse a piercing stare. "What _year_ is it?"

Startled, the nurse looked over from where she had been observing Dr. Vance's work on Tracer's right arm. "It's 2049, honey."

"What?" Tracer struggled with the information. _How's that even – I thought only forward movement through the time stream was possible._

_I haven't even been born yet!_

"There, everything looks good," Dr. Vance smiled from her right side even as Tracer's brain was breaking while trying to comprehend the situation she was in. He stepped back and started removing the hulking metal constrictions a piece at a time.

As the pieces fell off her arm, and the tightening feeling lessened, Tracer's form flickered like a candle. Dr. Vance frowned and pushed a small button off to the side, watching as the instant jolt of _something_ from Tracer's covered right eye pressed her form back into the visible spectrum. The jolt also set everything into place more thoroughly in her own mind.

"Hah, I told them it would work. Nice to get actual evidence though." Dr. Vance pulled the last of the metal away from her arm and leaned forwards to take off what was on her right eye. "All done."

_2049, what happened in 2049?_ As she'd had a jump through the void before, the time difference was not new. What _was _new, what almost made her fold in on herself, was the idea that she was so far away from anything pertaining to normal. _The omnic crisis started in 2046, and Overwatch was formed in 2051 to deal with it. But I've only heard the stories, I have no idea what I'm doing. Where I'll even go from here._

"How are you doing?" Dr. Vance directed the question at Tracer in the middle of her rambling thoughts. "Can you feel your right arm just fine?"

Tracer glanced over at her arm now that it was completely free of the metal bars. Her right eye made it difficult as there was a bandage or strap still impeding her eyesight. Jagged streaks of white twisted up from her knuckles making her pale skin look even worse. But something was off, even as she twisted her arm to ensure full functionality. She couldn't quite see it with just her left eye and a crick developing in her neck.

"Can you remove whatever is on my right eye?" She glanced to Dr. Vance who froze at the question.

"Sorry, what?"

"My eye, can you please uncover it now?" Tracer repeated to the doctor.

"Well," Dr. Vance cleared his throat and looked closer at the right side of her face. "I guess that's one of those 'unforeseen issues'. Hmm."

"What do you mean? What the hell is going on?!" Tracer began struggling a little and her form wavered if only slightly.

Dr. Vance sighed to himself and pushed the small button he had had to before. The resulting jolt took the breath from Tracer's lungs and the fight from her limbs. "We already removed everything."

"What!"

"Nurse, can you please send for the anesthesiologist, we'll need to take another look. I know for sure that it works, but we'll want to make sure that this problem is okay with what they want. Especially if she's even going to be part of that Soldier program."

"Wait a minute, you can't just – wait, soldier program? What?!"

* * *

A bundle of crisp papers wrapped in a thin folder thumped onto his desk with little care from the messenger. Dr. Vance did all but glare at his superior.

"It's done then?" The disinterest bled off of the words.

Vance pressed a hand through his hair and nodded. "All done. Just as asked. I also went ahead and did the soldier program introduction, including all of the serums, medications, and shots."

"You did them yourself?"

Dr. Vance nodded firmly. "I was available to perform them, and she was slated into the program at the last minute."

"Very well. I want her integrated into the program smoothly. And if anything does happen to complicate the transition, it she does anything, you have full permission to isolate and re-educate. In these unfortunate times, we need soldiers not whiny children."

Dr. Vance bit off a verbal response to the callous words and only nodded.

"Now, what is your formal assessment?"

The doctor shifted to one side and put up a stoic mask for his response. "She adapted well after being unconscious. There was a couple of troubling moments where she became so agitated that the fail-safe was necessary, but it does seem like she has some form of control over the change. After the first day she no longer requested "Angela" and proceeded to answer only a handful of questions. She follows orders well and has given no further concerns of dematerialization. Though she seemed a bit distraught after being in the restroom with Nurse Herrin. The Nurse reported that the girl stared at herself in the mirror for upwards of a minute before nearly dematerializing. That was the last of those such instances. After the soldier enhancements were made she has had no further issue, especially with the device we have on hand."

"What is your professional opinion of Soldier 80?" Vance's boss steepled his hands and leaned forward at his desk with this question.

"Sir, it is within my professional opinion that she needs training, but interspersed with rest and a fair amount of food. She was underweight when she got here, and the soldier program will only push her further if she can't keep up with –"

"She will be provided for as well as any of our other soldier program initiates. Is she viable, doctor? Will she be able to use her ability for the war?"

"Yes, with training, yes."

"Good, you are dismissed." Vance tiredly saluted and made to leave immediately, he stiffened only slightly as his superior spoke up again. "And next time I ask for a professional opinion, keep your personal feelings out of it."

Vance nodded once in understanding as he let the door press shut behind him.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading.**_

_**-Requiem**_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Welcome back. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.**_

* * *

She couldn't stop staring at her arm sometimes, even three weeks after the soldier program initiation and a full month after the initial surgery on her right side. Her left arm was pale, sure, but the right one held pure white jagged streaks of lightning. They had given her a loose fit sleeveless black shirt and a pair of sports shorts. And for the past week they had shoved her into a training room with a handful of the soldier program participants. And all this time she still couldn't stop staring at her right arm, because if she looked up she was reminded of one of the worst parts of this fiasco.

Tracer had always been short, she knew that. But it was ridiculous when she had first been helped to the bathroom. Her single eye was barely able to peak over the top of the counter and stare at her own face. A couple streaks of her brown hair had been bleached white, matching the color of the patterns on her right arm. Mostly the hair directly above and around her right eye. She looked bizarre now, in her own opinion. And the doctor wouldn't let her get rid of it either.

She kept pushing her short hair over her poor poor right eye. Another reminder of her time in the void, of what she lost to get where - when - she ended up.

Dr. Vance was brilliant though. Nothing compared to Winston, but he was working with older technology. _My eye given so that I could stay in the time stream. Not sure what to feel about that._

"Soldier 80, it's your turn," the gruff announcement of the training instructor pulled her from her own head. Of the dozen or so individuals in the room, only a few could look at her without pity and her instructor was one of them. It was like he was paid to be a hard ass sometimes too.

She pushed herself straight up and began performing the basic forms they had been learning, fluidly moving through them for him. It was only a few so far, a standard she had been used to with her previous training. This body, however, was chubby and small. Nothing like the lean Lena Oxton she used to be.

"Again." He demanded when she had finished the set. "Faster this time."

He leveled a stare up at the top of the room and just over her right side. The training facility was more of a fish bowl with a high-rise balcony for military personnel to watch the program initiates. More than likely he was getting non-verbal orders from his superior as she continued with her task. Regardless, when training was occurring attention was always given to the trainer. Not a head turned from him as he kept getting instructions.

It happened as she was moving to perform a right-handed punch. A slight tingling started in her right eye, a sudden knowledge pushed into her that something was coming. Followed by the small instance of a moving image. A flash of memory that wasn't memory.

Tracer turned before she even realized she was turning. She broke off from her form and shot her right hand out to catch a small pellet in the palm of her hand. Followed by two more in quick succession. She couldn't really feel the pain from catching them as her brain finally caught up with what they were. _Standard issue training pellets. What?_ Her attention automatically transitioned to where the pellets had been fired to begin the assessment of lethality.

"Very good, 71, 76, 80. The rest of you initiates need to practice your god damned awareness. As most of you know, omnics are not forgiving." The stern voice belonged to the man on the high rise behind them. A tall figure in a short haircut and military uniform. Around him stood several men and women with the offending weaponry. "From this point forward, don't make us regret choosing you over someone else."

He turned with one last sneer, motioning for the rest to follow him off the balcony. As he left so did most of the tension misting the air.

Their instructor pulled himself up to his full height. Multiple pellets now littered the training area and several of the initiates rubbed an arm or leg for the sting. "71, 76, 80, the three of you may return to the gym and run laps. The rest get to take this lesson to heart and clean up the room. I want it spotless by 1700." There was some grumbling at the task, but the sharp green eyes of the instructor swept them all away.

"Once you're all done with that, it's 15 laps in the gym."

Not a soul moved with that final angry declaration. Until the instructor moved towards the exit doors. "What do you need, a fucking invitation?"

As soon as the doors swung shut on his figure, the initiates moved into action. Tracer let the three pellets fall into the wastebasket by the doors. No need to make them clean more than they already have to. She nervously pushed the hair down on the right side of her face when she heard someone's footsteps approaching.

Whoever it was cleared their throat a little. "Hey, you're Soldier 80, right?" His voice was a familiar baritone. Something she remembered from before the void.

Her brown eyes widened as she swung around to get a look at the guy. Standing there in all his skyscraper glory with a nervous sideways grin, sandy blonde hair and eyes that captured the ocean was Jack Morrison. He had yet to find his signature blue coat, but the standard workout clothes still helped him cut an impressive figure.

Her own nervousness forgotten in the warmth bubbling from her chest, Tracer gave the guy a grin and bounced forward on her toes. "That's me! But my name is Lena."

Jack gave a small laugh, caught off guard by her personality. "Jack." He humored her with a firm handshake. "Soldier 76."

_The Strike Commander! But this is before Overwatch. Oh, I wonder if Reaper – I mean Reyes – is here too. In for a penny in for a pound. Maybe I can actually do something to help! I was too young when Overwatch was formed the first time. And this means I can see Winston again!_

Hope, that dangerous thing, had begun to seep into her once more.

* * *

Tracer dove to the left, out of the way of the sudden splash of orange painting where she had just been. Her hand tightened around the trigger of the small, aesthetically realistic, form of the paint marker in her right hand. They had amped the training up on all initiates in the last few months. That meant more running, faster hand-to-hand, weapons training, and stealth. The rule seemed to be to push the limits of the human body as the soldier program kept special doses of serums and medications on hand to make up for the time it would take a normal person to complete basic training.

Out of all participants, the military had homed in on a handful of candidates for the elite operations team. Perhaps half a dozen were left in the hell hole they had constructed for the 'live fire' simulations.

Tracer peeked to the left of the tire she was curled behind, ducking down right away as a blob of blue whizzed where her head had just been. She turned forty-five degrees and fired behind her right shoulder, trusting the sudden instinct that made her right eye sting.

These instances were happening more and more frequently. A reaction before an event. It had Dr. Vance up for four nights straight trying to poke and prod and evaluate. Tracer also started to have some of the worst headaches of her life, blossoming behind her right eye with the heat of the sun. And the worst part was that she just couldn't get them to stop.

A pink splash smashed into the tire next to her face. With only slight thought, and movement born from her recent training, Tracer turned and rolled to reach the next spot of cover. A faux grenade landed where she had been making an instant mess of the muddy ground, now a puddle of liquid yellow.

_Shink_

The slight brush of metal on metal warned her of the trap she had stepped on. To her left, out of the corner of her eye, an enemy soldier rushed her position. And in that instant her mind switched, a haze falling over her own reality. She wasn't in a training simulation. No. That man coming towards her was an enemy, overlaid on her surroundings and heightened by the fear she felt.

_And he was coming for her team. No one got to come after her team._

* * *

Soldier 71 reacted solely on instinct as he rushed the position of Soldier 80. The girl had paused, half crouched in position at the edge of a rusted truck, her good eye pointed away from him. And yet, between the fraction of a second he took to point his weapon her way, inhale, and aim, she was gone.

He felt the impact of the paint pellets on his back first. Then his right side, left side, chest. And when he exhaled his single breath, an explosion of paint filled his vision with red. A land mine had gone off where she had been standing. _The reason she was so still earlier._ He choked as the taste of the paint filled his mouth. Through all of this, the pellets continued to hit him as he tried to orient his view to the child attacking him.

_Is she flickering? No way someone moves that quickly, even with the enhancements._

A horn blared signaling the end of the exercise. And yet, he was still receiving hits from the small paintball marker. He tried to wipe the paint off of his protective glasses, but as his hands were covered in yet more paint it was a futile attempt.

"Soldier 80, stand down" He couldn't quite tell which superior officer was screaming at the girl. Only that she was definitely not listening.

"Stand down!" The second yell ended in a growl.

Soldier 71 heard several stun weapons fire at the same time. However, heedless of the stun guns, the tiny soldier continued her onslaught, even turning her weapon onto the commanding officers.

"Dr. Vance, containment procedures!"

Soldier 71 finally achieved visibility on the right side of his glasses, a thinner film of paint only causing a small tint rather than fully blocking his sight off. His head swiveled to the location of the current commotion.

"Aghh" Soldier 80 was flickering from location to location. Several of her remaining paint pellets plastered purple splotches on the group of commanding officers. A tight strategic circle formed around Dr. Vance and ensured his safety as he grasped a small remote from his jacket pocket. The doctor pressed the central button on it and held onto it frantically.

Soldier 80's yell turned into a high pitched scream. The paint marker fell from her hands with a thud a few feet away. She flickered once, twice, moving towards one of the simulation area's walls. A third time and her distance truncated to half of the previous two.

Her hands grasped at her right eye in a futile attempt to halt the shocking pain. The next time she moved to flicker away only her arms phased out of sight. Several of the men who had been covering the doctor moved in on her faltering form. One, two, three shots from a few stun guns dropped her to the ground in a crumpled heap.

A sudden jarring silence fell as Soldier 71 stared over at the form of his fellow soldier.

"Get back in line, Soldier 71," barked his instructor, spittle flying from his mouth in his agitated state.

Soldier 71 started at the sound, spitting paint from his mouth as he hustled to obey. He couldn't help but notice the grim and paint covered conditions of his comrades as he took his place amongst them. And with a startling realization his gaze swept over the field to the girl Dr. Vance and his team were placing into a containment pod. No, there was not a splash of paint on her.

* * *

She was Lena Oxton, it was day one, and she was cold.

Eyes blinked up to the low hanging grey concrete ceiling. Very little light filtered in through the window on the door. The floor soaked up the cold and transferred it to her bones

She screamed at the door, screamed for someone, anyone to come help her. But there was only her own voice.

And the camera in the room watched on, a silent observer.

...

She was Lena Oxton, it was day three, and her throat was raw from the screaming.

Food pushed in from a small flap on the door every so often. She counted the food in threes and marked a single line on the wall. A strange giggle built inside her.

But she stayed silent. She would not be broken.

Huddled on the single cot in the corner she watched the door with hungry eyes. For now she would wait.

...

She was Lena Oxton, it was day eight, and the markings on the wall looked strange.

A sort of calm haze existed around her. Her cot comforted her, the tears long since dried.

Short footfalls in the hallway heralded the sudden influx of more food. Bread, water, a single apple, and something that may have once passed as green beans.

She discarded the utensils and ate greedily.

...

She was Lena Oxton, it was day fourteen, and a man appeared at her door.

He led her to a room down the hall just as tiny as the one she had left. Inside was the same, four grey walls, a small toilet, and a dingy cot.

Except the occupant was decidedly not human.

"Shoot the Omnic, Soldier 80," the man growled, handing her a small blaster gun.

Lena Oxton froze, the unblinking eyes reminding her of friends she once knew - _would know?_ \- and she dropped the gun from her fingers.

Pain erupted from her right eye engulfing her in agony. The man gripped her neck, steering her shaking form back to the room down the hall. She was shoved inside without further preamble, the darkness engulfing her.

...

She was Lena Oxton, it was day twenty-eight, and the man was at her door for the seventh time.

"Shoot the Omnic, Soldier 80."

_No._

And pain became her waking reality.

...

She was Soldi - Lena Oxton, the days now blurred together, and the imposing figure from hell itself loomed at her door.

"Shoot the Omnic, Soldier 80."

She took the weapon, but she could not face the Omnic.

...

It was day thirty-six, and she was Soldier 80.

"Shoot the Omnic, Soldier 80."

_Bang._

The imposing man smirked down at her, ruffled her hair, and led her out of the darkness.

* * *

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_-Requiem_**


End file.
